You're Our Only Spark of Hope
by MysteriousShadowofDoom
Summary: Ponyboy Curtis. He's going to places, going to make his mark on the world, right? But what happens when a few... mishaps happen along the way? Is he still going to be the same young smiling boy that the gang knew? Follow along with the mishaps of Pony and the gang. Johnny and Dally are alive in this! T for language and a little bit of violence. May change rating in future.
1. Jumped

**A/N: Johnny and Dally are alive!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own ****The Outsiders****.**

**Warning!: Language**

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**Chapter One: Jumped**

**Pony's POV**

The cold wind whipped across my face as I raced down the track, my feet pounding against the ground. I crossed the finish line, half a lap ahead of everyone else.

"Nice Curtis! A 4:29 mile time ain't bad at all. Keep it up, and you'll be running a full scholarship to a major university!"

I looked over at my coach and smiled at him, thanking him.

I packed my track things in my bag. Darry said that he had to work late, as did Sodapop, so I had to walk home today. I guess Steve could have come and picked me up, but _no_. He couldn't be a good friend and ask if I wanted a ride. I guess I don't blame him. I am kinda like a tag-a-long kid. And Dally and Johnny left already. I dunno where. Two-Bit was probably somewhere drinking booze.

So that means I'm walking. Alone.

I really don't mind. Walking was just... fun for me. I could take my mind off of things and let it wander around.

I was two blocks away from my house- _two blocks-_ when I heard jeering behind me. I decided not to turn around. My gut told me not to. Instinctively, I shoved my hands deep down into my pockets and slouched. My feet also picked up speed.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? A pretty little lone Greaser walking all by his lonesome."

My head whipped around, and was nose-to-nose with a big, tall, muscular Soc. Well, more like nose-to-chest, since that Soc was so tall.

I recognized that Soc as Andy, he was in my school. Senior, I think. He was tall, blonde, a jock, got all the girls. Yeah, like a typical Soc.

Then three more Socs appeared from behind him. Two of which I knew, since they were also in my school. The other one I haven't met before.

One of the two that I recognized was James. He was a brunette, but he was like Andy, tall, jock, popular. Also a senior. The other was Alex. Junior. A redhead trouble maker at our school. He was a bit shorter than James, but was still imitating. He had a handful of girls always following him around school.

The one that I didn't know of was the scariest of them all. If I didn't know better, I would have thought that he was a monster drawn out of a little kid's book. He the tallest of them. Black-haired. Muscular. His eyes were dark black. So dark, it was like looking into a black hole, about to meet your end. He had a scar that started from his right eyebrow, then stretched across his cheek, and ended at his chin.

That guy may have been the scariest, but that doesn't mean the others weren't as muscular and imitating as him.

Andy leaned down close to me, and said, "Are you all alone grease? Ya wanna hang for a bit?" Alex pulled out a long, evil blade that could have rivaled Two-Bit's.

"And we could give you a makeover," Alex said, fingering the blade. "Your face seems a little boring. A scar or two here and there would make you look like a doll."

James cracked his knuckles. The scary one crossed his arms and then flexed his muscles.

Then I realized that I was in a jam. And Darry always says to "use my head" but I never do. Maybe I should listen to Darry more often. Because instead of using my head, I scream. Loud and clear. But only for a couple of moments before the four tackle me down to the ground and start slugging me.

I continue to scream, or try to. Because if you've never been tackled by four Socs while one is slugging you every second, one is continually slapping you and smashing your head to the ground, another making lines on your arms with a knife, and the other kicking your ribs and stomach, and they're all yelling curses and swear words at you, let me tell you. It's kinda hard to scream for help when all that is happening.

By now I'm crying. Greasers don't cry in front of strangers. But I'm no longer a Greaser. I'm a kid.

Then, everything goes black.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Darry's POV**

"Where in almighty hell is Ponyboy!" I am worrying my head off.

Right now its six. Pony's track practice ended at four. At least that's what Pony said. But it only takes thirty minutes to walk from school to our house. So he should he here at 4:30. Add another half hour to be safe, so five. But now its six. He is a whole hour late.

The gang except for Two-Bit are sitting around at our house, partly having nothing to do, and partially waiting for Pony, after Soda had rounded them up. Nobody knew where Two-Bit was.

The door opened and I whipped around expecting to see Pony. Instead it's Two-Bit.

I grab him around the shoulders, staring—or more like glaring—into his eyes.

"Where. Is. Pony," I breathe out.

Two-Bit holds up his hands. "Stop breathing in my face Darry. I never saw him today."

"Yeah," piped up Steve from the couch, "Two-Bit skipped today."

I groaned. "Does anybody know where he is?"

No answer.

"Steve, Johnny. Did Pony say anything on where he's going to go after school today? Besides track? Anything special that he had to do today? Anything?" I ask.

Steve and Johnny shook their heads.

I slam my head against the wall.

"You know," Dally spoke, "instead of sitting around waiting, why don't we go towards the school to _look_ for him?"

Everybody stared at him, then I slapped myself. _I am so stupid!_

"Well, let's go!" I commanded.

One by one we filed out the door, heading towards the school.

I started muttering to myself. "When I find him he better have a damn good explanation. And if he-"

"Pony!"

I jerk my head towards Johnny, who is now running at top speed at a lump of a person. A person! Pony!

Our gang started running.

_Please don't be him! Please don't be him! _Then I thought about kidnapping. _Okay, please be him, but don't let him be hurt. Please be him, but don't be hurt._

"Pony!"

I fell to my knees. He looked so fragile. He had cuts all over his body, his nose was bleeding, his foot was bent at an awkward angle, he had a gap in his stomach that looked like he was stabbed, and he was paler than a ghost.

_How long has he been like this?_

Then I noticed he was still bleeding.

"Get a doctor! Now!" I hollered blindly.

Steve and Two-bit, who were standing and staring with wide eyes, snapped out of their trance and took off running.

Dally looked a little green, and Johnny was slapping his pockets, muttering to himself. Soda had trails of tears down his face, and he still is crying a river. I then felt something wet on my cheek. It's not raining, is it? I felt my cheek, and when I pulled my hand away, there was a drop of tear on my hand.

I kept on combing Pony's hair and letting tears flow down my face. While Soda was patting Pony's hand and talking to Pony, telling him to wake up.

Steve and Two-Bit came running back, panting.

"An ambulance in five," they supplied.

I glanced at them. Two-Bit was wiping away tears, while Steve's eyes were red.

Dally was muttering curses and the like, and Johnny was pacing around, wiping tears with his jacket sleeves.

I heard an ambulance coming. Everyone wiped away their tears and I picked Pony up carefully.

An ambulance came rounding the corner, driving like there was a tornado behind them.

One second I was holding my baby brother, the next he was in the ambulance.

A nurse came up and inquired, "Which one of you would like to ride with him?"

"I'll go," I said. Then I turned to the others. "Take the truck."

They nodded.

I hurried to the ambulance and hopped in.

The nurses were scurrying around in the cramped area, fixing Pony up and everything.

I started to panic. _What if Pony's going to die? Will he die? Is he? If he doesn't, will he still lead a normal life? Is he injured severely? _I mentally slapped myself. _Of course he's injured severely! Or he wouldn't be in an ambulance, rushing to the hospital._

I turned to a nurse.

"Is he going to live?" I asked.

The nurse pursed her lips. Not a good sign. "Well, he certainly lost a lot of blood."

That's not a good answer. "Is he going to live?" I ask again.

"Hopefully."

Well, "hopefully" isn't a good answer either.

I am on the urge of strangling the nurse. "Is he going to live?" I ask, my patience wearing thin.

She sighed. "By the looks of it, maybe."

I resist the urge to slam my head against the side of the ambulance. But I decide I'll just ask the doctor. That way, no more people will get hurt. But if the nurse said "hopefully" and "maybe" that isn't good either.

I turned back to my brother.

_Please Pony. You're our only spark of hope._

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**A/N: Well? Good? Bad? Continue or trash it?**


	2. A Visit to the Hospital

**A/N: To all the reviewers, favorites, and followers, thank you guys so much! Every review, follow, and favorite really encourages me! **

**Disclaimer: I ****_still_**** do not own ****The Outsiders****.**

**Warning!: Language**

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**Chapter Two: A Visit to the Hospital**

**Soda's POV**

I watched as the ambulance carrying my two brothers, one severely injured, speed down the road, faster than Dally would have ever driven.

_I hope Pony's okay. Please stay with us Ponyboy, please._

"Soda!"

I turned my head sharply, broken out of my trance. Steve was looking at me strangely, while the others were looking with raised eyebrows.

"Huh?" was all I could manage. I guess you can't say much when your brother's in danger of being dead.

Steve bent down and grabbed Pony's satchel that was left behind, then he grabbed hold of my arm and dragged me along back towards our house, walking so fast as if there was a dog on his heels and he was too afraid to run.

"I called your name seven times," Steve said, not even turning to face me, keeping his eyes in front of him, staring at our house as if he was determined to get there, which I guess he was, because that's where Darry's truck is.

I looked at the ground, allowing Steve to drag me along. "Sorry..." I muttered.

I heard him sigh and say, "It's not... nevermind..."

I glanced up ahead and saw our house. Dally, Two-Bit and Johnny were already in Darry's truck; Dally at the wheel, Two-Bit riding shotgun, and Johnny in the backseat. I guess I was so out of it, because I hadn't notice they were ahead of Steve and I.

I climbed into the backseat next to Johnny and Steve jumped in next to me.

Dally went zooming down the road, faster than I had ever seen him. I mean, he loves breaking the laws, right? So if you ever saw him drive, it would be twenty miles over the limit. But now he was driving at 100 mph.

I'm sure Dally, Two-Bit and Steve would be having the time of their life if Pony wasn't in danger now. Johnny looked kinda sick though. If Darry was here, he'd be hollering at us and threatening Dally to stop or else. I was hoping Dally would drive faster. I know that thought is kinda naughty, but I was anxious to see how Pony was.

Surprisingly, we made it to the hospital without the police hot on our trail.

The minute Dally stopped the car in a parking space of the hospital, I near shoved (okay, I _did_ shove) Steve out the door and almost stepped on him on my mad dash to the doors.

I barged in and looked frantically around for Darry. I found him sitting in one of the plastic chairs in the Emergency Room section of the place, his head on his hands, staring blankly at the ground.

"Darry!" I literally yelled, a few people glanced my way. "Darry!"

He glanced up at me with a blank look on his face that almost made me stop in my tracks. Darry's always confident, always brave, but now he looked like he was going the cry.

"Darry!" I cried, coming up to him.

A nurse glared in my direction. But I don't care.

"Darry, how's Pony? Is he alright? Is he? Does he have any problems? Huh? What did the doctor say? Did the doctor even come out yet? Have you seen Pony? Is he okay?" I sputtered out all my questions in one breath.

Darry turned his head so he looked at the door that read "Emergency Room", most likely where Pony was now.

"No... The doctor hasn't come yet." He said in a low voice.

I heard four other heavy breathing that weren't mine. I looked around me and saw Two-Bit, Steve, Dally, and Johnny panting and looking at us with questioning gazes.

Darry's eyes started to water. "The nurse... in the ambulance..." He trailed off.

"What? What did she say?" Johnny piped up, being the first of the four to recover his breath.

A lone, stray tear made its way down Darry's cheek. "She said that Pony'll 'maybe' recover."

Dally grunted, "So what? She don't know crap."

Another tear found its way down Darry's face. "The doctor... before he went in... told me-" Here Darry choked on his tears "-to expect the worst..."

A gasp escaped Johnny's lips, and Dally smashed the wall with his fist in anger. Two-Bit looked faint, and Steve started muttering curses.

I, however, promptly broke down crying.

Just then, the doctor came out, with a grim expression. Darry stood up, causing the rest of us to look up and try to compose ourselves.

The doctor held out his hand, Darry took it and shook it.

"I'm Darrel Curtis, Ponyboy's legal guardian."

The doctor nodded. "I'm Dr. Jamison, Ponyboy's doctor for this... occasion."

_Well, _that's_ a nice way to word it._

"Pony is in critical condition. He has a cracked skull, five broken ribs, deep cuts on his arms and legs, a broken nose, a twisted foot, a broken arm, sprained wrist, bruises, and a very deep knife-cut. The knife-cut is three inches deep, and narrowly missing his stomach. He now has a concussion. We have done the best we can, but we are still unsure of his condition. He has lost a lot of blood, but not too much that would call for a donation of blood. If he lost just a couple more drops of blood, he would be in danger. After he wakes up, he will be kept for another week for observation, then he will be allowed to go home. At home, do not allow him to be too active. Let him rest. You may now see him. He's in room 519, fifth floor."

With all that information spilled out onto us, the doctor gave us a sympathetic smile and walked away.

The gang blinked once. Twice. Three times.

I stared after the doctor. _How can _anyone_ keep a straight face while saying all those __terrible facts?! _

Darry cleared his throat. "Well, then, let's go see Pony."

As we were walking along, Darry muttered what seemed like a thankful prayer.

The gang shuffled down the hallway towards the elevator. As we passed the receptionist desk, we saw a woman walk up to the receptionist.

"Excuse me, but do you know what room Ponyboy Michael Curtis is? I'm from the state."

We all turned our heads towards the woman.

I knew that all of us were thinking the exact same two words right at that moment.

_Social Worker._

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**A/N: How's that? Good or bad? Please tell me what you think!**


	3. A Stay at the Hospital

**A/N: Thank you guys for all the reviews, favorites, and follows! A virtual cookie for each one of you! Sorry it so long to update. I had a BIG Spanish listening exam I had to study for. Then I had a swimming competition. Anyways, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I. DO. NOT. OWN. ****THE. OUTSIDERS.**

**Warning!: Language... again...**

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**Chapter 3: A Stay at the Hospital**

**Two-Bit's POV**

I looked at the woman. The woman from the state. The woman that's gonna take away Ponyboy and Soda. I glared knives at her. No, make that _bullets_ at her. No, wait, _bombs_ at her. Or which ever one is more painful and slow.

_No way in hell am I gonna let that bitch take away Pony and Soda. Not on my watch. _

It seemed like the rest of the gang was thinking the same thing: murder the social worker. Dally cracked his knuckles, Steve's face had a nice shade of red, Darry was practically breathing fire, and if Soda was a cartoon character (like Mickey!), he would have steam coming out of his ears. Heck, even Johnny was clenching his fists so tight, his knuckles turned white.

I guess that bitch sensed us looking (or glaring) at her, since she turned around and faced us. Us very mad and angry and furious and steaming and... and... and... whatever words for "mad" there are, us very mad mob (or gang) of boys.

Darry, being the "boss" and the oldest, shook off his anger, and approached the woman as nice as he could, though his knuckles were white.

"Excuse me," Darry spoke through clenched teeth, "why are you here?"

The lady blinked twice and said, "I'm a social worker. For Ponyboy. Do you happen to know him?"

Darry forced a smile on his red face and mustered out, "Yes. I am his older brother and legal guardian. Who are you?"

The woman smiled also and replied, "I'm Mrs. Williams, your new social worker. We just got a call from the hospital, and they sent me over here to make sure everything is fine."

_Yeah. And then go throw Pony and Soda in a boy's home. Yep._ Everything _is just fine._ _Like that little piece of shit of kindness is going to stop us from murdering you._

"May we see him?"

Darry, whose face was now slightly purple, ground out, "We shall."

Darry led the way to the elevator, the bitch a step back, and the rest of us trailing behind, muttering curses.

In the elevator, Mrs. Williams (bitch, bitch, bitch, did I mention bitch?) kindly asked Superman a few questions.

"You are Darrel Shaynne Curtis Jr., am I correct?"

Darry clenched his teeth and forced a smile and talked through his teeth. "Yes. Yes you are."

Mrs. Williams smiled. "And I'm guessing you are Sodapop Patrick Curtis?" She nodded at Soda.

I'm surprised she wasn't shocked at Soda's "original" name. Or Pony's.

Soda stuttered out, "Y-y-yes... ma'am." Guess he was caught off guard with how she knew his name.

Mrs. Williams, apparently seeing the surprise, smiled even wider (_I swear, if she smiles one more time, I'm going to slap that smile right of her face._) and supplied, "We have pictures of you."

Soda nodded his understanding.

"And you and Pony look a lot alike."

Soda stopped in his nodding process and his mouth formed an "O". He had a light shade of pink on his cheeks.

_Soda and Pony look alike? How come I never noticed?_

The elevator opened at the fifth floor, and Darry led the way again down the hall. His head swiveled left and right, searching for the number 519.

I noticed that his footsteps seemed to get slower and slower as he went down the hall.

When we finally reached room 519, none of us opened it. Mrs. Williams stood quietly by the side, observing us in this quiet moment.

Finally, Darry had mustered up enough courage and put his hand on the doorknob. Then he twisted it.

Silently, we filed in one by one.

What we saw made us gasp. I think I maybe even saw Mrs. Williams blink away a tear or two.

There Pony was, his arm and leg in a cast, bandages wrapped around him, and an IV bag on a hook with a tube connecting it to his arm. He had a bandage wrapped around his head. He was still pale and looked ghostly, but at least he was safe in a hospital. Dr. Jamison said he had a concussion, so Pony was now "asleep".

_Poor kid..._

Hearing sobs, I turned towards Darry and Soda. They ran the short distance between their brother and knelt by him, sobbing out apologizes. Darry was stroking Pony's hair and mumbling something incoherent, and Soda was burying his face by Pony's side and holding Pony's limp hand. (_Hey... Pony and Soda _do _look a lot alike!_)

Johnny's tears rolled freely down his cheeks. Dally turned away. Steve impatiently wiped his eyes, and I... I was... I was staring at the ground... crying too.

**Pony's POV**

Darkness. Darkness. Warm, safe darkness.

"Pony. Oh Pony... Ponyboy..."

Huh? Who was talking to me?

"Pony... please..."

Hello? Whose there?

I heard crying and someone was stroking my hair.

I felt my eyes flutter open and I saw Darry above me, Soda by my side, and the rest of the gang at the foot of my bed. And a lady standing near the door. There was an IV bag above me on a hook, my whole body was numb, and I felt myself wrapped in bandages.

Wait... a bed? An IV bag? Bandages? HOSPITAL! I was in a hospital!

What am I going to tell Darry! Now I just brought in more bills! Darry must be furious!

I struggled to sit up and apologize, but Darry's strong hand prevented me from doing that.

_Great. He must be very mad now._

I glanced back at the lady.

Whoa! A lady?! Hospital... lady... SOCIAL WORKER!

Oh I am in knee-deep trouble.

"Pony."

I froze. Darry's voice was much gentler than I thought it would be.

Now the gang was staring at me, smiles forming on their faces.

"Thank God! Thank God! Pony! Pony!"

Soda wrapped his arms around me and squished me. And I winced in pain of my injuries. Injuries? Oh yeah. Socs.

Darry must have seen me wince, because he said, "Soda, you're hurting his injuries."

Soda immediately let go. "Sorry Pony. Are you okay?" Soda began to stroke my hair.

I nodded.

"God, kid. You had us scared to death." Two-Bit came up and softly patted my arm, careful not to touch my injuries. Johnny nodded, agreeing with Two-Bit, while wiping away his remaining tears.

Dally nodded at me, his eyes red. Wait, the great Dallas Winston was _crying_?

Steve managed a smile at me, a tear making its way down his cheek. Steve _cares_? Huh?

_I really must be losing it._

"Umm, Darrel?" We swiveled our heads to face the social worker. "May I talk to you for a moment?"

Oh great. I'm getting thrown into a boy's home. Yay.

Darry nodded, then kissed me on the forehead and ruffled my hair. My eyes followed Darry as he crossed the room and went in the hallway with the social worker. I watched as Darry closed the door behind them.

**Darry's POV**

I shut the door behind me. I knew what was coming.

"Yes?"

Mrs. Williams cleared her throat. "Uh, well, I know the troubles you and your brothers are going through, so..."

_This was it. Good-bye Ponyboy... good-bye Sodapop._

"I'll allow this... _once_."

I blinked. "What?"

"I know this wasn't your fault. It was those Socs. I know it." I could have sworn I heard venom in Mrs. William's voice when she said the word "Socs".

I gaped at her. She smiled. "No need to thank. I know what you're going through. My brothers and sister and I went through the same thing as you guys did."

_Really? She went through these things too? Her parents died too when she was young? _

"Uh, well, thank you." I stuttered out.

"I'll have to keep this incident's details secretive, and not give the state that much detail. I might lose my job, but it's worth it."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I blurted out.

Mrs. Williams gave me a reassuring smile and then, with a faraway look in her eyes, she said, "My younger brother was injured too, by Socs."

Then she cleared her throat.

"Well, good-night." Mrs. Williams said and walked away.

I stared after her, partly of the good news that Pony and Soda won't be leaving, and partly of her story.

_Her brother was injured by Socs?_

I was beginning to like this social worker. As long as she was our social worker, everything would be fine.

I walked back in the room, and the gang looked at me in worry.

I gave them a big smile and a nod. Pony and Soda would be staying. The gang cheered.

Pony looked at me with big round eyes. "What made her let us stay?"

I smiled. "She said that she's been through the same thing. As long as she's on our side, I think we're fine."

...Right?

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**A/N: Again I'm sorry for the long wait. So... whaddya think of that? Good? Bad? Downright terrible?**


	4. Who Were They?

**A/N: I'm BACK! Wait, wait, now before any of you guys grab my head and slam it against the wall, I have a short story I have to tell y'all. Comfy? Calm? Okay, so once upon a time, there was a girl who just typed up 80 percent of her next chapter of her fic for the Outsiders and was going to finish it the next day. But next morning, she woke up to find that her little brother spilled water (or at least she hoped it was water) all over her computer and her iPad. It took a week for the computer to be fixed, and then she had to fly to LA for her second cousin's wedding, where she and her family just HAD to stay in a five-star hotel that has everything BUT fast Wi-Fi. The end. Now guess who that girl was? Yep. Just came back in time for Thanksgiving! So HAPPY THANKSGIVING to all those who celebrate it. Now, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: *sigh* I do not own The Outsiders. S. E. Hinton does.**

**Warning!: Language**

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**Chapter 4: Who Were They?**

**Pony's POV**

The rest of the week passed by rather slowly. But I guess you can't say that it was fun while you're staring at a dull, white, cracked ceiling for seven days in a row.

Darry, Soda, and the rest of the gang came floating in and out. But there was _always_ at least one person from the gang in the room every time. Some days I'd wake up and find Darry asleep in a very uncomfortable plastic hospital chair. Other days, it was Soda knocked out in the chair instead. Johnny and Two-Bit were regular visitors, always coming in everyday to deliver my homework that I had to makeup on. Dally came in a few times, but I'd always see the white fury in his eyes. The anger wasn't directed at me, I knew, it was directed at the Socs, but it still made me feel uncomfortable. Even good old Steve came by twice, just because someone else couldn't make it. His visits were awkward and quite, but even his presence made me feel safer than the night I got jumped.

I felt bad because I was taking away their time and energy, but I kept my mouth shut. After all, Soda and Darry'll just give me a huge pep-talk on how important I was if I told them I thought I was such a burden.

When the day came where I could get released and out of the damn place, I was way too excited. Darry came over on Saturday and gently helped me into his battered Ford pickup truck. The ride there was silent, but I was still glad I was out of the stinkin' hospital.

The minute I stepped into the safe, warm walls of the house, I felt happy and secure.

Darry ordered me to go to bed and rest, and I would have argued back, but I truly didn't have the energy and this time I just decided to go along with it.

Darry gave me two pain killers, then I stumbled off to mine and Soda's room (using the damn crutches), plopped down on the bed, and before I knew it, was fast asleep.

**Darry's POV**

After Ponyboy shut the door to his and Soda's bedroom, I sunk down into my recliner. I had too much on my mind now. First Pony gets jumped, he goes to the hospital, then some strangely nice social worker comes along, and I have to juggle the bills and still do my two jobs: roofing and being a good guardian.

I was mostly worried about Ponyboy though. A fourteen-year-old kid like him should be able to live with freedom and happiness in a safe neighborhood, not be worried about getting beaten up and walking around with a blade.

I glanced at the clock. The rest of the gang would be here any minute now, so we could talk with Pony about the jumping. The night still sent down shivers down my spine and asked me questions I didn't want to think about. _What if Pony died? What if the ambulance didn't come on time? What if we never found him? What if the..._

I was cut off from my thoughts when the front door slammed open, revealing Sodapop and Steve.

"Hey Darry!" Soda greeted me before kicking off his shoes and flopping on the couch across from me.

"Superman," Steve nodded at me then turned on the radio to full blast. I was about to tell Steve to turn it lower since Pony was sleeping, but then the front door slammed again, and Two-Bit came skipping in (literally).

He yelled, "Good evening Curtis!" then turned on the TV to his favorite mouse.

"Two-Bit, turn the volume lower. Pony's..."

That was as far as I got before the door creaked open again, and I was going to tell whoever it was to not slam the door, when I heard it close softly. I turned and saw Johnny gently close the door. Dally, who had just came in with Johnny, nodded at me, his way of acknowledging my presence.

They both sat down on the couch, next to Sodapop.

I looked at Soda, and he nodded at me. He turned to tell the guys to turn off the devices while I went to get Pony.

**Pony's POV **

_I was at the park, walking along with my backpack slung over my shoulder. _

_Suddenly, the same Soc, the one with the scar, came out of the shadows with a knife. He smiled wickedly, then raised the knife and..._

I jerked awake, bathed in sweat. I listened for hurrying footsteps, but didn't hear any, so I figured I swallowed the scream that had been threatening to burst out of me.

I lay back down, staring at the ceiling.

"Ponyboy?"

I rolled over and shielded my eyes from the light that was streaming in through the doorway.

"Darry?"

"I'm sorry kiddo. I thought you were awake."

I shook my head and yawned. "No. It's okay."

Darry shuffled his feet and asked hesitantly. "Um, could you come to the living room for a bit?"

I shrugged, not knowing why he would ask me to go, but I got up anyhow (wincing when my ribs protested) and walked out of the bedroom behind Darry, hobbling along with my crutches.

"Hey Dar, why are we..." I cut off when I saw the whole gang there. "Oh..."

Soda and Dally were sitting on the couch, with Johnny between them. Steve and Two-Bit were on the floor. Darry let me stand (or _made _me stand) in the middle of the room while he stood somewhat behind me.

Soda cleared his throat. "So um, Pony... that night... what happened?"

I froze. I've managed to avoid that question for the week, and now here's Soda, asking me the damn question.

"I got jumped," I plainly stated.

Soda raised his eyebrows. "We know that... but by who?"

"Socs."

Darry groaned. "We know it was those Socs. But did you know them?"

I bit my lip. "No," I lied. Which is technically not completely a lie; I didn't know one of them.

I could feel Darry's eyes drilling through the back of my head. "Ponyboy Michael Curtis, don't you dare lie to us."

Dammit. Why did Darry have a built-in lie detector?

I hesitated. "I... didn't know one of them."

Dally gave me a glare, knowing I was still avoiding the real question. I ignored it.

Soda, however was looking at me with big wide eyes. "You 'didn't know _one_ of them'? How many were there?"

I stared at the ground. "Four," I mumbled.

I heard the gang suck in their breaths. Just then, Dally exploded.

"Give me names. I need their names," He came over and stared at me. "Give me their names. God dammit, I need their names!"

Dally kept on advancing towards me, I, however, backed up two steps for every one of his step. (Which is kind of hard when you have crutches and a broken wrist). I kept backing up until I backed up right into Darry.

"Dal, lay off. You're scaring him," Darry put out a hand to stop Dally from advancing any further.

Dally stopped, then went back down and sat back on the couch, grumbling.

I knew that if I did tell them, they would go out and beat them up twice as badly as they did to me.

"Why do you guys want to know? I mean, I wasn't beaten up _that_ badly..." And that was as far as I got before the gang exploded.

"What?! Ponyboy! What do you mean 'not _that _badly'!" Soda's eyes were white with fury for the Socs.

"You were at the fucking hospital!" Darry's face was red.

"Pony! You were bleeding!" This was Two-Bit.

"Don't you dare say that kid!" And this was Dally.

"You were beaten up worse than me Pony!" Surprisingly, Johnny yelled this.

And the most weirdest comment was from Steve: "You were stabbed, kid! You had us scared to death!"

I shrunk between their glares and pep-talks following their explosions.

_This is going to be a long night._

**Third Person POV**

A muscular man hid behind two bushes in the Curtis' backyard, while his gaze was on Ponyboy through the living room window. Beside him was a tall, black-haired, muscular, black-eyed boy with a scar that started from his right eyebrow and ended at his chin.

"When do we get him, Dad?" The boy asked, his eyes flickered to Ponyboy.

The man smiled and replied, "Soon, son. Real soon."

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**A/N: Again, sorry for the long wait. I already have a plot going on, but if you guys have ideas or requests, I could work them in. HAPPY THANKSGIVING!**


	5. I'm What?

**A/N: I just wanna say a big thank you to all those that followed, favorited, and reviewed! Thanks for your support. Also, unnaturalstories gave me some pointers (thanks ;) ) and I polished up chapter four. Also this is kinda a long chapter, so buckle up your seatbelts. Now, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: By now you should all know that I don't own The Outsiders.**

**Warning!: Language**

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**Chapter 5: I'm... What?**

**Pony's POV**

I closed the cover of my sketch book impatiently, then lay back down on the bed, staring at the dull, white, cracked ceiling for the hundredth time that day.

It's been two weeks since I've been out of the hospital and giving the gang lecture, three weeks since I've been jumped. My ribs were healing slowly, though they still protested when I try to sit or stand. My head feels fine, and the cuts and bruises have begun to fade away. My nose is still sore, even after the doctor fixed it. My arm and wrist have been doing better, so now I don't need the cast. I can also hold a cup of chocolate milk with the sprained wrist. My leg has been great, I don't have to use the damn crutches, and I can limp around now too. The place of the knife-stab had been healing along nicely, but the area around it is still kind of sore. I had to use two pain-killers for the first three days back, but now I only down one when the pain really bugs me.

My nightmares have slowly been getting better. Darry and Soda don't even know I had them since I've managed to swallow most of my screams of terror, though I always wake up in cold sweat. I really don't want to wake them up to tell them I just had a nightmare when Soda and Darry already work so hard in the daytime.

The gang has drifted in and out, with Johnny being the one who came to bring me my assignments and homework everyday. I knew I was falling behind in class, so I kept pushing myself, even when Soda complained about how bright the light was and that I should turn it off when we were supposed to sleeping. I always ignored him and work my ass off.

Darry had me stay in my room the whole time since I've been back. I am not allowed to go anywhere. I am sick of being in the bedroom, like a lion squeezed into a too small cage. I wasn't even allowed to go to the kitchen. Food was brought to me, and when I had use the bathroom, Soda or Darry would always be by my side. They would never be more than two feet away. Otherwise, I was shoved into mine and Soda's bedroom to waste time. Staring at the ceiling for the past two weeks has _not _been fun at all. I complained to Darry a couple of times, but since we have to "follow the doctor's orders" (at least that's what Darry said), I had to "rest". I would think lying in bed for five days was enough, but Darry shook his head and disapproved.

Anyway, today was Monday, and Steve and Soda were at work, though it was Darry's "turn" to babysit me. Two-Bit said something about having met a really cute blonde, and Dally and Johnny were... somewhere. After reading everything readable in the house three times (even the newspaper), finished my twenty-sixth sketch, did my homework for the rest of the week, and slept for two hours, I was out of ideas to whittle away time.

"Darry!" I called.

Nothing.

"Darry!"

Silence.

"Daaarryyy!" I was losing my patience... and extremely bored.

I heard hurried footsteps coming to the door.

"Pony? Something wrong? I was fixing the hinges on the fence, so I didn't hear you," said Darry as he pushed open the door.

I rolled over on my stomach. Bad move. I winced inwardly because of the pain. "I'm _bored_!"

Darry looked at me. "Did you finish your homework?"

_Darry. Always about the work._

"Yes," I replied, "I finished the whole week's worth."

He then looked at my sketch book. "Why don't you draw?"

"I'm out of inspirations."

"Sleep?"

"I slept for two _hours _ already," I complained.

"How about reading?" He gestured at the book _Gone with the Wind_, a book that Johnny got me for my fourteenth birthday. "You love reading."

I glanced at the book. "I've read it at least eight times!"

Darry shrugged. "Then what do you want to do?"

"I want to get out of this cramped room!"

He shook his head at my outburst. "Pony, you know you can't do that. Doctor's orders."

"Then can I at least go to another room... _in the house_?" I really enunciated the "house" part.

"Ponyboy, you can't move around too much."

"Can I at least go to your room and explore there?" I asked.

_Now why did _that _come out? Why do I want to go to Darry's room for? _Guess after you've been cooped up long enough, any room is fine. Even a jail cell.

Darry looked at me funny. "Why?"

"I'm _bored_!" I said again. "Please?"

He looked hesitant. "I dunno Ponyboy. You ought to rest..."

"Please? Please? Please Darry? I'm _bored_!" I complained. "And your room is right down the hall! I won't have to walk much!"

"Fine," Darry said as he gave in, rubbing his temples. "But you can't move out of that room without me or Soda by your side. Understood?"

I nodded vigorously.

He sighed, then helped me walk down the hall to his room. After setting me down on his bed (my ass was hurting sitting on beds by now), he ruffled my hair and walked out of the room, leaving the door open so he could keep an eye on me while he was in the living room.

I hobbled over to Darry's "hall of fame". Or, in-other-words, his shelf lined with football trophies and honor roll certificates and Boy of the Year awards.

After I got bored staring at them, I limped on over to Darry's wooden chest, where he keeps all his memories, like yearbooks.

I began to take out his yearbooks and flip through every page, glancing here and there. After I went through each of them four times, even his kindergarten one, I glanced up at the clock and saw I had only squandered away an hour. Now here I am... bored.

I picked his yearbooks, which was now scattered all over his room, then dropped them gently back in his chest. I was bored still, so begun to rummage through his chest some more. I found pictures of Darry playing football, with Mom and Dad, with the rest of the family, Darry eating his birthday cake at two years old, and other faded out photos.

After I looked at them all, I continued to dig deeper into his wooden chest. I know I shouldn't be nosy, but hey, you can't blame a fellow for being bored.

I was rummaging past his college applications—the thought just making my heart squeeze in guilt—when I saw something. His, mine, and Soda's birth certificates.

I was bored again, so I took them out and started to read them. Ever since Darry took Soda and I into custody, I guess he had to keep all of our documents together.

I looked at the first one.

_Place of Birth: Tulsa, Oklahoma_

_First Name: Darrel Jr._

_Middle: Shaynne_

___Last Name: Curtis _

_Date of Birth: January 5, 1945_

_Mother: Anne Martha Jamison_

_Father: Darrel Shaynne Curtis_

Yep. There's Darry's certificate.

Next I picked up Sodapop's.

_"Place of Birth: Tulsa, Oklahoma_

_First Name: Sodapop_

_Middle: Patrick_

_Last Name: Curtis_

_Date of Birth: October 8, 1949_

_Mother: Anne Martha Jamison_

_Father: Darrel Shaynne Curtis"_

I read. Apparently I was so bored, I was talking to myself.

I picked up the next one, mine (of course), and started to read it.

_"Place of Birth: Tulsa, Oklahoma_

_First Name: Ponyboy_

_Middle: Michael_

_Last Name: Curtis_

_Date of Birth: July 22, 1952_

_Mother: Elizabeth Jane Smith—"_

I cut off abruptly. Who the heck is Elizabeth Jane Smith? My mother was Anne Martha Jamison, married to my dad, Darrel Shaynne Curtis. My blood froze. My mother isn't my _real _mother?

Forcing myself to swallow the lump that formed in my throat, I read who my father was.

_"Father: James Daniel Curtis."_

What the hell?! Who was James Curtis? Is he related? His last name's Curtis. Time seemed to stop for a while. Then I realized something. I wasn't Soda or Darry's brother. I was somebody else's son, and _not _their brother. The people who loved and cared for me, the people I grew up with, the brothers that were willing to sacrifice anything for me... they... they weren't my brothers. Or my family.

But maybe it's a typo, right? I _have _to be related to them. I _have _to. Or Darry and Soda would have told me. They would have. I'm not adopted.

That one word hit me like a ton of bricks. _Adopted_. I'm... adopted.

My brain wasn't working right, that much I'll admit. I heard the door slam and voices and laughter beginning to fill the house, but I was only thinking that one word: Adopted. I'm adopted. I'm _adopted_.

No, that can't be right. My head was spinning. I'm confused.

Deciding to ask Darry, I limped out of his room and into the living room. I knew he told me to call for him or Soda if I needed to move around the house, but that wasn't important right now. Right now I wanted this fact straight.

Looking up from this morning's newspaper, Darry leapt to his feet. "Ponyboy Michael Curtis, didn't I tell you to call for me or Soda if you needed to move? I should have _never_ let you out of your room because now here you are, parading and marching around the house like..."

"Who's James Daniel Curtis?" I cut in.

Darry's face immediately paled.

"Darry? Do you know?" I asked.

Darry didn't respond.

Just then, Sodapop and Steve came bursting in the living room from the kitchen, laughing. Soda caught Darry's paled face and then looked at me, then back at Darry, his laughter now gone.

"Darry? Something wrong?" Soda asked.

Steve went silent as well.

Darry still didn't answer.

I turned to Soda. "Hey, Soda? Who's Elizabeth Jane Smith?"

Soda stared wide-eyed at me, while Steve swore quietly.

I swiveled my gaze onto Steve. "You know?"

Steve bit his lip.

"Hey Curtis household! What a mighty fine..." Two-Bit entered the house but trailed off once he caught sight of the scene in the living room. Johnny and Dally, who had come in with Two-Bit, also stopped at the scene.

Deciding to ask them, I said, "Who's Elizabeth Jane Smith and James Daniel Curtis?"

Two-Bit's wacky grin fell off his face in less than two seconds. Johnny's eyes got bigger than baseballs and something flickered across Dally's stone features.

I glared back at Darry. "Who are they? Tell me."

All eyes swiveled to Darry. I continued to glare at him.

Darry began hesitantly. "I tell you when you feel a bit better. You..."

"No. I want to know _now_." I interjected.

Darry sighed, then looked at Sodapop, who gave me a quick glance, then nodded slightly with a look of defeat and sorrow on his face.

"Ponyboy," when Darry finally began after a couple of silent moments, "James Daniel Curtis was our uncle. He died when you were eleven months old. Elizabeth Jane Smith was married to him and our aunt and she also died. Well, technically mine and Sodapop's aunt and uncle. They're your... parents. And you're... their son."

Silence.

"You knew?" I asked, staring at my brothers, or excuse me, my _cousins_.

Darry and Soda nodded shamefully.

"And you guys did too?" I turned my head to stare in disbelief at the rest of the gang, who were trying to escape the room.

They nodded one by one.

I felt like a punch was delivered to my gut. Here I am, trusting and hanging out with the people who lied to me.

My brain started to swim around again. I couldn't see straight.

"Pony," Darry began again, "maybe you should sit down. You don't look so great."

I shook my head. I needed to get out of this place. I need to have room to think.

"Pony..." Soda began.

"No," I said, shaking my head vigorously. "I need to get out of here. I need space. I have to think."

Johnny to a step toward me, but I backed up, towards the front door. "Don't touch me." I told Johnny.

I continued to back up until my back felt the hardness of the door. I fumbled for the knob while the rest of the gang were either staring at me, or attempting to come closer and comfort me.

"Pony, I understand that you're mad at us," said Soda, taking a step forward, "but you have to understand..."

I didn't listen to the rest of what he said. I yanked open the door and started to run/hobble out the door, when I ran into a wall.

I looked up the "wall" and saw Tim Shepard staring down at me in confusion. Curly was a bit behind him, cocking his head and looking at me.

"Kid?" Tim asked.

"You look kinda pale," commented Curly.

Ignoring them, I did my best to run, which isn't really that fast when you have a broken leg, and headed for the park.

After running/limping for about twenty minutes, I made it to the park. My leg hurt like hell now. I wish I has taken some pain-killers before running.

I listened for any members of the gang coming to get me, but didn't hear any, so I figured they knew I needed some alone time.

I sat down numbly on the edge of the fountain, staring at the ground, thinking.

I'm adopted. Darry and Soda aren't my brothers. They're my cousins. My real parents are dead. My aunt and uncle that I grew up with to call them "mom" and "dad" are dead. The gang lied to me.

All these thoughts were swirling around in my brain, when I suddenly felt a strong and rough hand on my shoulder.

I turned around and faced the same bastard that jumped me three weeks ago, the same mysterious tall Soc that I didn't know with the scar and black eyes.

I opened my mouth to scream, when the son of a bitch muffled my face into a cloth filled with a knock-out powder, and that was all I remember before I lost conscious.

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**A/N: Yep, longest chapter so far. You can take off your seatbelts now. Also, I now have a poll for you to take. The poll question is "Should Bob Sheldon appear/be alive in my fanfic 'You're Our Only Spark of Hope'?" Vote now!**


	6. Where Are You?

**A/N: I really appreciate all your reviews, favorites, and follows! They keep me going and I know my work has not been in vain. I really do appreciate you guys! Millions of thanks! Also, vote whether Bob should appear in this fanfic on my profile page. And thanks to bigbangtheoryk8 for pointing out a mistake I made in the earlier chapters! ;D Thanks!**

**Disclaimer: Do I look like I own The Outsiders? 'Cause I don't. S.E. Hinton does. *sigh***

**Warning!: Language and violence**

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**Chapter 6: Where Are You?**

**Steve's POV**

_Now where the hell has that little brat gone?_

Darry and Sodapop have been worrying their heads off. I looked at the clock, which read one thirty-four.

When Ponyboy barged out the door a couple of hours ago, Darry and Soda were ready to charge after him, but Johnny, being Pony's best friend, convinced them that Pony needed time to be alone and to get used to the shocking news, so Darry and Soda reluctantly stayed at home.

But now it was past midnight, and no matter how upset Pony was with the news, he would be here already, or, at the very least, called his brothers.

I hate to admit it, but the kid's grown on me. Well, yeah, he's sometimes a smart-ass and annoying, but hey. He's part of the gang. And he's the one that would be our hope in getting out of this crappy life. Kid's going to get out of here, and going to make his mark, going to do something. Of course, I'd never tell anyone. I've got a rep to keep.

Still, even the kid wouldn't disappear like that. He wouldn't want to worry his brothers... right?

Hell, if the kid got jumped by some Socs and is bleeding to death, I'll...

I sat bolt upright from my position on the couch, making the rest of the gang whom stayed up, except for Two-Bit and Dally, who had to go home or, in Dally's case, go back to Buck's, stare at me in confusion.

Holy shit! What if the Socs from last time jumped him again? We still hadn't called a rumble or had beat the Socs to a pulp yet.

"Guys! We need to find Pony!" I bellowed out, making Johnny flinch visibly. _Sorry Johnnycakes._

Darry looked at me warily. "Steve, we need to give him some space. The news really shocked him."

"But even if so, he wouldn't want to worry you guys!" I countered. "Pony's not that type."

Soda sighed. "But Steve, he was pretty upset. I bet he's going to come right through the door any second now."

I shook my head. "Kid's not that type," I mumbled. Gosh. I really was getting way too soft for the kid.

Darry ran his hands through his hair, his eyes lined with worry.

"Maybe we should go find him," I suggested.

Pony's brothers shook their heads, while Johnny looked on.

"You saw how shocked he was. He's probably angry at us right now. Even if we do find him, he'll most likely just run away again, mad at us," Darry sighed.

I decided to pull one of the tricks I had up my sleeve. "The Socs."

Now _that_ caused them to pay full attention to me, their eyes lost all the amount of opposition they had.

Darry stood from his recliner. "What do you mean, _Socs_." He spat out the word "Socs" like it was poison.

"Remember? We still haven't called a rumble, or found out who jumped Pony that night," I said.

Everybody's face had paled.

"Dammit!" Darry said as he slammed his hand on the coffee table and sitting down in frustration. "I've been so caught up with making sure Pony was okay that I forgot all about that."

"Well?" I asked, my head nodding towards the door, that only a few hours before, Pony had barged through them.

Darry nibbled his bottom lip. "Fine. But don't blame me if he get angrier."

But even as he said this, Darry grabbed his jacket, Soda following suit, and swung open the door, charging into the night. Johnny went bursting after them, as I followed too.

_Jesus kid. You better be all right or I'll personally beat the living shit outta you... after I beat up those who hurt you._

**Pony's POV**

Where am I?

I groaned, reaching up to rub my eyes, only to find that my hands were tied.

What? Why are my hands tied?

Then I remembered. Stupid Soc. Probably kidnapped me or something. Probably stuck me in a random shack or whatnot. Great. I'll be here until the gang realizes that I'm missing.

Oh shit. The gang. Yep. When I get back home, or _if_ I get back home, Darry'll ground me for life.

Soda'll probably help.

I was sitting in a very uncomfortable position on a very uncomfortable hard, cement floor, my hands tied to very uncomfortable metal pole, and my hands and feet were tied with very uncomfortable rope. I was cold and hungry and tired. How long had I been out? An hour? Two? Twenty-four?

I looked around for a window for two reasons: one, to get the hell out, and two, to judge the time.

I saw none. All I saw were gray cement walls. Nothing hung on the walls, nothing was in the room. Except for a flickering candle in the corner farthest away from me, next to a door. The room was bare.

I wondered where I was. A basement? Nah, too empty.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps clattering from the outside of the walls. It sounded as if started at a floor above me, then descended to my floor. Maybe the guy's going down some stairs.

Damn! It didn't strike me until now that I could die, get hurt, and never see the sun again...

And never see my brothers again...

That being in my mind, I thrashed and strangled about, however, the rope must have been made of metal or something, because no matter how much I swore and pulled and tugged, the rope didn't budge.

The footsteps were coming closer and closer.

In a last resort, I pulled my legs up to my face (kinda hard when you have long legs because you're a track star) and bit down hard on the rope... only to have my teeth protest in pain, and I had to stop.

Then there was the sound of a lock being unlocked, and a dark, tall, muscular silhouette was standing in the doorway.

I squinted my eyes from the bright light that filtered in through the doorway.

The figure stepped out into the light (not like there was any. Except for the candle.) and revealed a man who looked like he was in his mid-forties. The man was tall, broad, and muscular. He had two eyes that gleamed black and he had hair that matched. He looked pretty similar to that stupid Soc that jumped me earlier, however early that was. He wasn't dressed like a Greaser. No. He was dressed like a Soc. A goddamn Soc.

Except he wasn't dressed like an average Soc. He just had more... I dunno... _richness_ to his clothes. Like he was a person that was richer than other Socs. Like he was a "Super-Soc".

But the thing that caught my eye was the heater he had in his pants pocket. I could tell because the butt of the gun was sticking right out of the pocket.

He looked at me, my legs inches away from my face, frozen in my attempt to break free.

"Well, you little piece of _shit_," He spat out at me in his deep rumbling voice, "never think of running away... or else..." He slapped his right hand to the butt of the heater a couple of times to prove his point.

Then he knelt down at me, his voice low. "Do you know why you're here?"

I glared at him, but kept my mouth shut.

He laughed a dry laugh and continued, "Well, young bastard, you'll find out soon enough. But first," he closed and locked the door, then he turned back to me, his eyes dangerous. "I'm going to make you pay for everything that stupid James Daniel Curtis did to me."

Before I could register the fact on how he knew my, apparently an uncle of mine, or more correctly, my _dad's_ name, or how he knew I was his, _apparently_, son, or what my real father did to him, I was punched right in the gut. Hard.

The man punched my ribs, which, mind you, still were sore, leaving me with tears streaking down my face and my ribs protesting in pain. Man, that son-of-a-bitch can really pack a hard punch.

Noticing the cast I still had on my foot (which I had forgotten during my attempt to escape), he grinned evilly and, goddamn, put his left foot on it and stepped down forcefully. I let out a scream when he did that, and I heard a bone crack. Great. Another month in bed.

He bent down and stared at me with cold eyes. "Scream all you want you little jerk, but no one can hear you."

He threw another punch to my face, hurting my almost-healed nose. I thrashed about, trying to break free, but just one sound of his hand slapping against the heater made me freeze.

"Good boy," he said, his mouth forming a smile. No; you couldn't call it that. Even a sneer didn't cut it. It was the look of  
someone who held all the cards,knew it, and relished it. It radiated pure malevolence.

The Super-Soc kept on punching and kicking, while I sat there, screaming bloody murder, begging and crying for him to stop. But he didn't give a crap about me.

Mr. Super-Soc started to punch my face and I felt blood trickling down the side of my face. I closed my eyes and tried to take deep breaths, that ended up in pitiful sobs.

When the jerk kicked my bad arm, white-pain flashed across my body. I lost all my senses for about five seconds, and when I finally came to, I heard screaming. It took me a while to realize that _I _was the one who was doing all the screaming.

I guess the bastard thought the ropes got in the way, so he untied me, so I just lay in a heap on the floor. I would've run, but I was in too much pain, and he had a heater.

He continued to torture me, and soon he started to swear and curse at me. For some reason, I never lost conscious. Damn, this guy knew how to beat up a guy without having him lose conscious. Which means his victim had to stay awake and feel the pain. Much worse than the jumping I got a few weeks ago.

By now I've lost all control and started to bawl like a baby. I didn't even try to counter or block his attacks. I haven't thrown a single punch because I don't have enough energy, and I know that if I even try to, I'll end up getting shot.

Man, I should've stayed at the house.

**Soda's POV**

Where are you Ponyboy?

It was five in the morning, and the whole gang was here, even Two-Bit and Dally, after Johnny and Steve roused them up to tell them that Pony's "missing". Two-Bit paled when he was informed. Then he quickly wrote a note to his mother in his chicken-scratch on where he was, and then joined the search. But when Dally was told, he just swore and then joined our little search party.

It didn't matter that Steve, Darry, and I had work today. We called in sick. I guess even good old Stevie boy cares about my kid brother. I knew they haven't gotten along well, and Pony even thinks that Steve hates him, but in truth, Steve cares about Ponyboy just as much as the rest of us.

Darry was pacing around the living room like there was no tomorrow, Steve just sat down on the floor, staring off into space, and Johnny was wedged between Dally and Two-Bit on the couch, dried tear-tracks on his face. Dally had a blank look on his face, though his eyes flickered between worry and anger a lot. Two-Bit just sat and was mumbling something about that it was all his fault.

I wanted to comfort Two-Bit and say he didn't do anything wrong, but I didn't have the spirit or energy.

I was sitting in Darry's recliner, my head in my hands. I stared at the ground.

After running into the night, we spilt up. Darry and I decided to tackle the lot and around our neighborhood, and Johnny and Steve ran around the park and to the movie theatre and the Strip. When we met back at our house an hour later, nobody had found him or seen anything.

We then decided to get Two-Bit and Dally, even though it wasn't even three. After getting Matthews and "Mr. Towhead", we split up again, checking our whole side of the town. We occasionally ran into each other during the search, each yelling across the street asking if the other found anything.

At our last attempt we all joined together and decided to comb through the Soc side of the town. We coolly eyed the one or two Socs that were up actually out on the streets at four, and after walking around the area for an hour, we decided to return home.

When we got back, I was half-hoping that Ponyboy came back. He didn't.

Our bedroom was empty, and after splashing some water on my face to get rid of the sweat I got from running around all night, I joined the rest of the gang in the living room.

I knew we were all tired, yet no one wanted to sleep.

"Darry," I broke the silence, though no one except Darry looked at me, "we should call the cops."

"What?!"

I flinched as the gang finally looked at me and easily expressed their thoughts with that one word.

"Why Soda?" Darry asked.

I swallowed. "What if... what if... if Ponyboy..." I shook my head, not wanting to continue.

"What Soda?" Darry gently prodded.

"What if Pony ran away?" I managed to get out.

Surprisingly, it was Steve who answered. "Kid's not like that," he said, his eyes held determination.

"He could. He could... Ponyboy can..." I said. Even though I knew it was far-fetched, I could picture him running away. I could. None of the gang could, but I can._ I_ can.

"Or he could've been kidnapped," I voiced my thought before I could process it.

At this, the gang glared at me. Not wanting to acknowledge the scenario.

"Don't you _dare_ think that way Sodapop Curtis!" Darry hollered, leaping to his feet and pacing.

I stared back down at my feet.

"No, Ponyboy wouldn't have been kidnapped. He's a good kid. Nobody could hate him. He's fine. Nobody has a grudge against him. He's fine," Darry muttered, though he seemed to be assuring himself more than he was assuring the rest of us.

"Darry," I looked back up, my normally happy eyes were sad, "we have to call the police."

"But... but then you and Ponyboy will be sent... to a boys' home," Darry spluttered out sadly.

"We have no other choice Darry," I simply stated. The guys cast their eyes down, giving up all hope. "Either way, if he ran away or got kidnapped, we still have to report it."

"Something else. Something else happened. He wouldn't... he couldn't..." Darry shook his head furiously.

I sighed. "Darry, as much as I hate to admit it—and I don't want to either—we still have to report it. I need to find him. Even if we get sent to a damn boys' home."

The gang nodded weakly, not being able to deny the truth any longer.

Darry heaved a sigh, then, giving in, he reached over and picked up the phone. He stared at it for a while, and then looked at me.

Finally, he gathered up his courage and dialed. A few seconds later, a woman's voice sounded over the phone. "This is 9-1-1, how may I help you?"

As Darry told the incident to the woman, the gang's eyes were on the floor. However, mine were out the window.

_Oh Ponyboy. Where are you?_

**Pony's POV**

I lay on the ground, not groaning in pain, but _screaming_ in pain.

I sobbed, I couldn't move.

I felt like a wimp, just laying on the floor, not being able to fight back.

I was on my left side, my legs slightly bent, and I was cradling my bad arm with my good. Damn, Mr. Super-Soc could really beat a guy up good.

In fact, Mr. Super-Soc was towering over me, panting from having wasted most of his energy on beating the crap out of me.

I refused to look at him. Besides, my tears didn't allow me to see very well either.

When the bastard finally recovered from his "anger-issues", he bent down to the floor, sticking his sweaty face inches away from my nose. His eyes still gleamed with hate though.

"Don't think that was all you'll be receiving, you piece of shit. Everyday, or when I feel like it, I'll come down here and torture you. And I'll keep doing that until I have avenged my family," he said. "But don't worry, I'll make sure you won't die... yet."

_Great. By the time he's done, I won't be out of the house for at least five years. That is, _if_ the gang ever finds me._

My stomach twisted at the thought that I'll never be found... alive.

The jerk than reached into his back pocket, revealing a eight-inch switch-blade. My eyes widened.

But instead of stabbing me, he grabbed my left arm rather gently, and made a mark about three inches long, leaving the blood dripping from the wound.

Then he muttered, "That was for you Ellie."

He pocketed his blade and stood up, gruffly kicking me before he headed towards the door.

Just as he was about to step out the room, he spoke to me. "You better do what I say, you shit. Or Darry, Soda, Johnny and the rest of your so-called family will die."

And for emphases, he patted the butt of his gun.

Then he turned the knob and walked out the room, locking the door behind him.

I stared at the door. _How did he know my family? Who's Ellie?_

I probably would've asked him these questions, but I decided it was better to keep my mouth shut.

I moved my gaze to the dull ceiling.

I wondered where the gang was now. Did they know I was gone? Had they tried to find me? Did they report it to the police?

Groaning, I closed my eyes and let silent tears escape. I don't care if I don't look like a tough Greaser. I'm just a kid.

I'm just a kid...

What did _I_ ever do to deserve this?

Why is it when it's the Greaser's turn, the chips are always down? Why can't our luck just turn around for once?

I opened my eyes, blinking back my tears.

I didn't even try to sit up or make myself more comfortable. I was tired... and hurt.

I wished so badly that Darry or Soda would come barging in through the door, holding me in their arms, telling me everything's okay. Or even better: tell me it's all a dream.

_Yeah, maybe it _is_ a dream. If I just close my eyes and open them again, I'll be back in mine and Sodapop's bedroom, Soda stumbling in from the shower, Darry cooking breakfast and yelling me to hurry my ass up, Johnny sitting with Two-Bit watching Mickey, Steve hollering for Soda to hurry, Dally just leaning in the doorway being tuff._

I shut my eyes real tight, took a deep breath, then snapped them open.

Nothing.

I was still on the floor, bleeding like a stuck pig.

I sobbed harder.

I would do anything to let Darry, Soda, Johnny, or anyone from the gang just to come here and tell me everything's okay. Hell, I even want Steve to be here.

By now, I was bawling like a baby. I was bleeding, scared, and the surprisingly still-burning candle didn't give off much heat.

_Darry? Soda? Guys? I'm scared. I'm scared and tired. It's so cold. Please come and find me. Guys? Where are you?_

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**A/N: And scene. Thanks again for all your support. Remember to vote on my poll! **


	7. Hi, I'm Kevin!

**A/N: Sorry 'bout the late update. I was sick with a cold and felt like... well, crap. Anyway, to everyone who read, favorited, reviewed, followed, or even skimmed or glanced at this fanfiction, THANK YOU! You guys keep me going! Oh, and (even though it's kinda late) HAPPY HOLIDAYS! Now enough of me yapping, go on and read the chapter!**

**Disclaimer:**** Once again, I do not own The Outsiders. S.E. Hinton does.**

**Warning!:**** Language and violence**

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**Chapter 7: Hi, I'm Kevin!**

**Pony's POV**

I was sitting on my rump, my legs sprawled out in front of me. My arms were hanging limp by my sides. I had finally managed to sit up, my back leaning on the cold pole, when I had finally stored enough energy to get into a _less __uncomfortable _position.

I had cried myself to sleep about an hour after I received the beating, however I woke up a few hours later, nightmares looming in my sleep. I was screaming bloody murder, but since I was screaming my head off during the beating, I had no energy left in my throat to scream. So when I woke up screaming, it was more like a silent "ahh". But after swallowing in panic, the saliva soothed my throat.

My body hurt like hell, and the cut that the Soc gave me was still bleeding a little, but I didn't have anything to fix myself up with, besides my now-tattered clothes. And I was _not_ going to take off my clothes to use and bandages because the room was freezing cold.

Ugh. How I wish I had taken some pain killers before running out. Then again, I don't think pain killers would work compared to what I've just been through.

My broken leg felt completely numb, my face was caked in dried blood, as was my shirt and pants. I felt like a rag doll.

How I wish the gang was here! They would know what to do...

I dunno how many hours had passed. It felt like a lifetime ago when I received the beating, but I knew it was only a few hours. How many hours ago that was, was the question.

I had managed to doze off, when a loud bang jerked me out of my sleep.

It was followed by a loud voice shouting obscene words, and another softer, but still strong, voice protesting. Then I heard a loud smack of skin against skin, and the loud voice got louder, while the softer one disappeared.

Eventually, Loud Voice shouted something like "go give shit-boy his food" and then stomping came on the floor above me and a door slammed. Then I heard a car—a real tuff car (you can tell by its smooth engine)—zooming away into the distance.

Silence.

Then I heard cursing and swearing and shuffling of feet. A clatter of plates and forks and whatnot. Then I heard a pair of feet making its way down some stairs (probably the same stairs from before), and I was shaking in fear, thinking it was Super-Soc from yesterday coming to beat me up again, when I listened closer.

I remembered that Super-Soc's footsteps were harsh and forceful and confident. This pair of footsteps were also harsh and forceful, but they sounded less confident. Like the guy making his way down the stairs had no idea what was going to happen. Like he was hesitant to make the step, but wouldn't show it.

The door, the one next to the now-burned-out candle, opened, and I had to weakly shield my eyes from the light.

The guy standing in the doorway was the jerk-face that kidnapped me. The one that knocked me out in the park. The one that jumped a few weeks before.

He looked like Super-Soc, but younger.

_Father and son_, I thought.

He had a tray with a glass filled with water and a sandwich.

I glared at him as he sat down in front of me, placing the tray in between us.

Glancing down at the tray, I saw that the sandwich was a baloney sandwich.

Looking back up, the jerk-face just sat there, not even making eye-contact.

A few awkward minutes passed. None of us said a word. Well, guess you can't say much to the guy that kidnapped you anyway... unless you wanna punch him. Which I do, but thanks to Super-Soc, my bones are broken.

"Well? Aren't ya gonna eat?" Jerk-Face gruffly asked, jerking his chin towards the tray.

"Oh, yeah. 'Cause when your old man beat me up real good, I can definitely use the broken bones in my body to eat properly. I'm in prime condition for eating," I snapped. I dunno what happened. It just blurted out of my mouth. Darry's right: I don't use my head. And also because I took a caution to whether the food poisoned or not.

I quickly shut my mouth and faced the floor, my eyes squeezed shut. I was expecting a slap, a punch, a kick, or something from the guy, I mean, if you've been kidnapped by the guy who jumped you a few weeks ago and whose dad beats you up, you'd expect something. But after a few moments, I felt nothing.

Slowly, I opened my eyes, to see Jerk-Face just staring at the floor.

I eyed his face, looking for any anger that he might launch at me. But when my eyes were darting around his face, I saw a red hand-print on his left cheek. I remembered the sound awhile ago when I heard skin slapping skin. Must be his dad hitting him.

"It's not poisoned, if that's what you're worried about," He said, as if reading my previous thought.

He got up, leaving the tray on the floor, and left the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

How am I supposed to know if it was really poisonous or not?

Then my stomach growled loudly. I felt faint.

I stared down at the meager meal I had. Usually I could eat three servings.

Well, it was this or nothing else, because I had a feeling Jerk-Face wasn't going to bring me any other food.

Trembling, I reached over, using my unbroken arm (which was also the one that Super-Soc had made the cut of "Ellie") to pick up the glass of water. I needed water more than I needed food. My throat was dry from screaming and crying, and tasted like blood and had another vile taste.

My weak fingers grasped the glass, and I almost dropped it. My hand was shaking because of my poor energy, but when I had finally managed to bring the cup to my lips, I gulped down the water like there was no tomorrow, which, if Super-Soc kept on torturing me, then yes, there _would_ be no tomorrow.

After I chugged down the wonderful source of water, I glanced at the baloney sandwich.

Well, it's that or nothing, poisoned or not...

So I grabbed it with the same unbroken arm, then I took a small bite. And that's what did it.

I started gobbling down the sandwich, taking bite after bite after bite. I wonder how long I had gone without food, how much time had passed that made me so hungry.

While I was eating, I was waiting for the poison to kick in, but it never did. Guess Jerk-Face didn't lie. But I _still_ kept my guard up.

When I was done with my "feast", I leaned back against the pole again, and sleep finally greeted me.

~.~.~.~.~

**Soda's POV**

There was a knock on the door. Three brief knocks reserved for official matter.

Darry shot up out of his seat and swung open the door, the rest of us still in our sitting in our same statue-like positions on the couch.

None of us had eaten anything yet, and even though we were all hungry, none of us wanted to eat.

"Are you Darrel Shaynne Curtis Senior? Ponyboy's father?" Two police officers stood in the doorway.

Darry stood there, tall, cool, and muscular. But when Dad's name was mentioned, Darry's body stiffened. "I'm Darrel Junior, his son."

One of the officers, a broad brunette, cleared his throat. "Where's your father?"

"He's dead."

The other officer's mouth formed a small "O" and his face paled slightly. But the brunette officer just stood there, unaffected by Darry's blunt words.

"Well, I wouldn't be surprised at that. In this kind of neighborhood, you can't tell what's going to happen next," the previous officer said.

My eyes flared up with anger. Immediately, I could tell that the brunette was not a Greaser... and that I wasn't going to like him.

"We need to speak to your legal guardian, then," came the words of the same brunette officer.

I peered around the corner, glancing at the name tag. "Officer Dillard" read the tag. I looked over at the other one, the one that hasn't spoken yet. "Officer Whitman".

"I _am_ Ponyboy's legal guardian," Darry said swiftly. I could tell he was getting mad with the "attitude" Officer Dillard was showing him. When Darry gets mad, a nerve on his neck starts pulsing real fast it looks like it's gonna burst, but the rest of him is so calm and composed, almost nobody can tell that Darry's mad...

Officer Dillard crossed his arms over his chest and said, "Well, then, it was reported that Ponyboy is missing."

"He is."

"And how long has he been missing?" inquired Officer Dillard.

"For about thirteen hours now," Darry replied.

I heard the "tsk, tsk" of Officer Dillard, then the curt reply of "Well, good-day then."

Darry was shocked. "W-w-ait, what do you mean 'good-day'?" He asked, stepping out the door.

"I meant," Officer Dillard said, walking back to his squad car, Whitman following him like a puppy, "that a missing child is not missing, unless he's been missing for twenty-four hours. Therefore, this case, is not a case."

Then why the hell didn't the operator lady tell us?!

Now the nerve on Darry's neck was bouncing up and down. Darry took a step out the door. "But—"

"Good-day, boy. Call us again when the next eleven hours are up." The squad car carrying the two officers sped down the street, ironically going forty when the limit was twenty.

"WHAT?! THEY JUST LEFT? _THEY JUST LEFT?_" This was me, and I can_not_ believe that Officer Dillard, that son-of-a-bitch, just left us here.

"Whoa, there, Soda, calm down." Steve put a hand on my shoulder.

"Calm down?! My baby brother is missing, and all ass-hole Dillard wants us to do is wait another eleven hours to call him back?!" I screeched. "Ponyboy could be _dead_ and all we are doing is sitting on our rear waiting for his blood to dry up on the side of the street or something. I am not going to sit for another hour, much less eleven, just so my baby can be hurt even more. He could be crying and hurting and calling out our names for help, and all we're doing is sitting around. If the police aren't going to do something about it, _I _will."

Darry nodded his head after I finished my long rant. "That's exactly what we're going to do," Darry said, giving me a grim smile. "We're going to get Ponyboy back ourselves."

Dally cut in, "And what exactly _are _ you going to do?"

"I'm going to Tim's. See if he knows anything," Darry replied.

"I'm going with you," I said.

Darry nodded. Then he turned to the others. "You guys keep scouring the town to find Ponyboy, then we'll meet back here in two hours, ten minutes after seven."

The guys nodded.

He grabbed his jacket and threw me mine, then we hopped into his Ford pick-up truck, and off we speed to Tim's.

~.~.~.~.~

**Pony's POV**

When I woke up, I was tied up again, with fresh new rope. My back was still pressed against the cold pole. The tray that was in front of me when I fell asleep, the one that Jerk-Face brought my food in, was gone. The candle in the corner was now replaced by a new one, the light making shadows dance across the walls. Well, my shadow, since there wasn't a whole lot of stuff in the room.

I wondered how many hours had I slept.

My body still was sore and hurt like hell, but all those thoughts went away when I heard the door on the floor above me slam.

I heard grunting then two pairs of footsteps. Then I heard the footsteps going down the stairs, but there was a thump every two seconds, sounding like there was something being dragged down the stairs carelessly, like a little boy dragging an old, torn blanket around, the end of the blanket dragging on the floor. Except, it sounded like something heavier than a blanket. There was also another thump, something relatively light, every five seconds.

The door swung open, and Super-Soc and Jerk-Face came into the room through the door, dragging a bag with a lump of something in it. Jerk-Face was also dragging a chair in the other hand.

Super-Soc and his son went past me without saying a word. They untied the bag, and Jerk-Face dumped the contents on the floor carelessly. Or the _content _carelessly.

The content was a boy, a young boy that looked a couple of years younger than me. Jerk-Face and his father took the boy and tied him to the chair that they had also brought in down the stairs. Then they left without a word, locking the door behind them.

I looked at my fellow captive, I guess they decided to kidnap another boy, because kidnapping only one isn't fun enough.

The boy was unconscious, probably just like what Jerk-Face did to me, knock me out before kidnapping me. Poor boy probably doesn't even know he's kidnapped yet. The boy looked like he was twelve or thirteen. He had dark brown, curly hair, kind of like a semi-beetle cut. He was relatively tall, and he had a pointed nose. And judging by the clothes he was wearing, he was definitely a Soc.

Suddenly, he began to stir. His eyes fluttered open, revealing brown orbs. He looked at me, then at his surroundings. Then he looked back at me.

"You're a Greaser," he plainly stated. He didn't say "greaser" in the snobby tone that all the other Socs said to us Greasers, he just said it like a normal word. No hate, no sadness, no pity behind his tone. Just "greaser".

"You're a Soc," I returned.

He continued to look around the barren walls, then he looked back at me, back at me tied up to a pole with my arms and legs bound.

"We're kidnapped, right?" He asked.

"Yep."

Then he smiled real wide and said, "Hi, I'm Kevin!"

I raised my eyebrows. Here we are, kidnapped, he's tied to a damn chair and I'm tied to a damn pole, and all he can say is "hi, I'm Kevin"? And why the hell is he smiling at a time like this?

I blinked. "I'm Ponyboy."

Then I waited for the laugh and the "no, really, what's your name?" or the "you've got to be kidding" part.

Instead, Kevin just nodded, the smile still plastered on his face.

"So," Kevin began, "how have you been doing?"

I blinked. I'm tied to a damn pole, I have been beaten up, there's blood all over my body, I miss the gang, I'm adopted, I want to go home, and I've been kidnapped... so yeah, I'm doing pretty good.

"How _does_ it look like I've been doing?" I snapped, gesturing (well, as best as I could tied up) to my surroundings.

"You look like you've been doing well," he said.

I stared at him. _Aren't we gonna bond like brothers_, I thought.

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**A/N: Thanks for reading, and remember to vote on my poll!**


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